


Meeting of the Minds

by dramady, jeck



Category: Real Person Fiction, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-28
Updated: 2011-06-28
Packaged: 2017-10-20 19:24:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramady/pseuds/dramady, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeck/pseuds/jeck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whilst on the press junket for X-Men: First Class, James and Michael find ways to relax.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meeting of the Minds

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred, or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.

"X-men - colon! First class!" Complete with hand gestures. Before James McAvoy collapsed back into his director's chair, chuckling helplessly. "Christ."

They'd been at this - the gauntlet of press - for nearly four hours and he was bloody well _exhausted_. They were brought tea, water, biscuits, but they still had nearly four hours to go. "I think I'm cracking," he murmured to Michael Fassbender, grinning though. "I think I'm losing it. Can't - keep - going...." He slumped lower and lower.

Michael looked at James and as he laid a hand on the man's knee he whispered, "hang in there, chap. Just a few more to go." He was grinning, adjusting the hat on his head that hid the blond of his hair. James kept touching his, though, and Michael thought it distracting - the way those long ends kept curling outward like it called for him to touch it.

"It's all the same questions, though," James said, smiling up at him from where he was half-sprawled, half falling off his chair. "All the same questions. Except the mad one." The Rolling Stone interviewer, James was sure, had been stark raving mad. At least that had been a change of pace. "Tell me, Mr. Bond. How do you like your tail?" He even waggled his brows, tongue running along his lower lip as he grinned.

"I like my tail very much, thank you. It's quite handy, you know?" Michael said, grinning outright, leaning in more closely, his eyes catching the curl of the ends of James's hair. "I can show you later just how handy, hmm?" Michael teased, leaning back on his chair again, almost laughing but still trying to stifle it. "And you, Sir? How is Cupid today?"

"Ah, working to make everyone feel _comfortable_ ," James rejoined, not bothering to stifle his laughter. "You're off your nut, aren't you?" How could he not be? Of course, the Michael Fassbender smile could cover the world in fairy dust. With a sigh, James sat up in his chair again, leaning on an arm, forehead resting on Michael's shoulder. Tired. Very tired.

Still grinning, Michael let James lean against him for a moment before Michael finally reached over and patted his cheek with one hand. "There, there. It'll all be over soon. Maybe we can be lucky and they'll have two stiff drinks for us when we stand up from these horridly uncomfortable chairs."

"We're very big stars. They should have drinks for us," James said, turning his head just enough to smile up at him. "We're charismatic … very large stars. Drinks should be here." Doing the interviews drunk would be better, he realized. "I'll finger their brains and make it so."

Oh dear, he was getting a bit loopy.

"Make sure it's just their brains, James," Michael said, turning his head to meet James's eyes. "And yes, as big a stars as we are we should be having drinks now. I can hold our glasses with my tail." Michael laughed. Yes, loopy would be a precise way of describing the state of their minds.

"Ah, very good." Laughing again, James held a hand aloft. "Drinks! Or better yet!," he was quick to amend. "Let Michael make the drinks! Chop-chop!" Complete with a clap.

Alas, all they got was another interviewer.

When they finally saw the outside of a building, it was dark and James leaned a shoulder into Michael's arm. All it took was a shared look. Drinks.

Michael gave James a curt nod and then their car showed up as if James's mind bending powers called it forth. The door being opened for them, Michael gestured for James to get in, grinning again. "After you, darling."

"Thank you, petal." James slid onto the leather bench seat, immediately leaning forward to see if the car was stocked.

Only water? Heresy! He slumped back, legs stretching out. "I say," James said. "Your hotel room and room service." Limes, vodka, vermouth and glasses. Perhaps some food, but that wasn't required.

The hat came off and then Michael slid inside the car, placing the hat on his knee and then he slouched in the seat. It was the only time he did so. During the interviews he was sitting up, working on looking gallant. Now Michael ran his fingers through his hair and it wasn't as coifed as it was earlier either.

"You should add that stipulation to your contract," Michael told James, shifting to be able to look at him. "A martini bar in your hotel room. Quite handy for times like this." He let his hand rest on James's knee, squeezing. "… add that to the one that says you cannot operate any caddie carts."

"Ha-ha-ha," James said (even as he was laughing), plucking at Michael's fingers idly. "I can't have a martini bar unless the contract states that you're there to make them. I'm more a whiskey drinker." Which Michael knew all too well. "I'm surprised you didn't show everyone your _scar_ today. Tell of how you were wounded in the battle of golf carts."

"It is a very lovely parting gift, isn't it?" And sure enough, Michael shifted to lift his pant leg up and pulled his leg up to show the scar. "Now I can't look at myself and not think of you." He grinned at James. "I still say add the bar to the contract. I shall then fly all across the globe to be at your beck and call whenever you need a martini."

"Ah, very good. Your acting career will be secondary to the making of a very good martini. For me." Comfortably, James sprawled with his back against Michael's side. All the better to watch the city go by.

They shared the solitude in the car, the quiet comfortable around them, lost in their own thoughts while trying to unwind from the exhaustion of their busy day. The car finally pulled into the driveway of their hotel and the door was opened for them. Michael was the first one out, standing there, waiting for James.

"And what shall it be today? The hotel bar or my martini?" Michael asked, running his hand over his head and then placing his hat back on.

He'd had quite enough of being social. James led the way to the hotel, using his key so that they could access their restricted access floor, then keying open the door, and holding it for Michael to come in. He then immediately went to the phone and ordered what was required.

When he hung up, he gave his friend a grin. Already the evening was looking up.

"Very well then," Michael finally replied once he walked in and sat down, his hat off his head and placed on the coffee table of the en suite living room. He leaned back and crossed his legs, one arm stretching the length of the back of the setee. "Please let it be a proper nightcap."

"Ye of little faith, my friend," James said. "Do you think I'd steer you wrong? Never. I have impeccable taste and an uncanny ability to always know what's the right thing to do." Which was entirely untrue, but he liked the idea.

"Ah. I see Charles has rubbed off on you." Michael was grinning back at James, watching him move around the room from where he was very comfortably sitting. "You see my hat is off therefore you can read into my mind and know exactly what it is I need." But his expression said that maybe not _everything_ was open to James.

"The mind-blocking fedora, yes." Smile softening, James came over to where Michael sat, pushing at his legs until they were uncrossed, then he perched himself on his friend's knees. There, he looked intently into Michael's green eyes.

Michael was surprised that he had opened his arms out and let them hover at his sides while he stared at James. James and the distracting curl of the ends of his hair. But slowly Michael smiled and slowly he put his arms down and his hands rested on James's thigh. "Are you trying to read me because I think you forgot …" And he took James's hand lifting it and placing his fingers against his temple. "There. That's better."

"The need for a martini made me forget," James said, side of his mouth quirking up in a grin. "Right. I see … " He refocused, face getting somber. "You … feel the need to make me a martini, too. And to wear women's clothes …. "

"Silk stockings are so _sexy_ against the skin, luv." Michael winked at James. "The dress is very … airy." He smirked. "You might want to give that a try one day. I'll make you a martini - _two_ \- if you show me yours in a dress."

"To get a martini, I have to cross-dress? That hardly seems fair." Dropping his hand, James shook his head. "Though I suppose it is quite literally tit for tat."

"Would you rather I offered you three martinis?" Michael schooled his expression to reflect one of seriousness - they were negotiating after all. "Because anything more than that might require a look up your skirt. They are," he grinned, "excellent martinis after all."

"This is true," James had to admit. "They are excellent martinis. You drive a hard bargain, Michael."

Just at that moment, there was a knock at the door. Saved by room service. He levered himself to his feet, saying, "this isn't over."

A moment later, he reappeared with a tray, complete with martini fixings. Voila!

Michael just sat there and watched, grinning, still. "Might I remind you that negotiations are still well underway. No martinis until we come to an agreement." He patted his knee, smirking.

"You Irish," James grumbled. But he came back over and sat again. Arching a brow, he peered down at Michael. "I seem to have forgotten my ladies' apparel. Perhaps we can come to another agreement, mmm?"

"Oh," Michael tsked, shaking his head. "I don't know? I'd say that was quite a bargain. You would have to come up with something better than that." Hands back on James's thighs, they idly traveled back and forth over it on their own volition.

"Well," James said, pondering, even facetiously. "I could do my famed mating dance. It's a long-standing McAvoy family secret however. So you'd have to swear to keep it a secret."

"Does it involve you dancing and chanting in your underpants?" Michael asked, his head cocked, his eyes caught in James's gaze.

"Ah, I'd tell you, but I'd have to kill you," came the reply. "Do we have a deal or not? The vodka is getting warm."

"That is all I get, though? A mating dance? Would it involve me in any way?" With a slender finger, Michael pointed to the martini set-up. "I need to stress the excellence of the drinks you shall soon consume once we come to some … understanding."

"Clearly, you underestimate the power of the dance," James said. "This dance is _so_ powerful that, really, I think you should make the drinks first in the event that even witnessing it puts you into a stupor."

"Very well." And reluctantly Michael had to gently push at James so that he could get up and start the drinks. "I'm beginning to feel parched with all this talk anyway." Michael started to make two straight away.

Vermouth first, swished all around the glass and then tossed before Michael put the ice cold vodka in the shaker, more ice until his hand practically stuck to the very cold steel. "Shall we put music on? Get the ambiance here going?" Shake, shake, shake and then Michael poured two glasses, olives dropped into them with a plop.

"Sorry?" James had been mesmerized by the ritual of the making of the drinks. "No music is needed. The mating dance actually speaks for itself." He held his hand out. Martini, please.

It was true what James said in one of their many interviews. Once the helmet was off, he was in charge. Michael handed the drink to James, then he raised his glass. "To martinis and mating dances."

"Cheers." With near gratitude, James took a long drink. It was a brilliant martini. He let his head fall back, eyes falling closed. Bliss.

Michael was staring, sipping his martini, looking at the lovely lines of James's neck, following it to his face, those closed eyes. "Michael Fassbender gives James McAvoy an orgasm without touching him - that will be all over the internet soon." He grinned, raising his glass again and downed the rest of his own martini.

Head back, James laughed opened-mouthed, more a cackle than a laugh. Michael made him _laugh_ more than anyone in his life. "I won't tell if you won't." He took another sip, then grinned at the other man.

"I should tell. Spread it all over the internet only because you told everyone about the ginger." There was more left over in the shaker and Michael offered it to James, pouring it in his glass. "Drink up."

"Thank you, sir." James toasted then drank. "It isn't as if your ginger-ness is a grand mystery. Anyone who's seen _Hunger_ knows you're ginger. Right down to your privates." There went his brows, waggling.

"You liked looking at my bits," Michael countered, grinning wide. "How many times have you seen it, hmm? For my bits?" He popped open the shaker and poured more vodka."You quite enjoy the ginger I assume. You do mention it quite often."

"If I were to watch that movie often, you should be very concerned for me." The movie was highly disturbing on a number of levels. "Perhaps I'll do a role one day where I too can be ginger. One can only hope to be ginger like you, friend."

"Gingers do have more fun." Michael started on the shaker again. More drinks; they needed to unwind. "Another round of press tomorrow. Do you think we'll survive?"

"Ah, that is very much in question." James took Michael's space on the settee, sprawling out, his glass on his stomach. "I always forget how brutal the gauntlet is."

"More drinks then." He gave the container another couple of shakes and then Michael picked up his glass and poured before sitting next to James. He had a knee bent, leg up on the seat, getting more comfortable, feeling a little looser now that he'd had a good drink in him. "Here you go. We're going to need it to come up with more versions of what superpower we would like to have. The last two we came up with today were very weak." He sipped. "Comfort and Love?"

"Perhaps weak, but well-intentioned," James rejoined. "We've quite used up the tail and flying options. I quite liked Hermaphrodito, though."

"Ah yes," Michael was nodding. "That was quite brilliant. Quite brilliant. Cross-dressing and changing sexes at will. I just might choose to be a girl right now." He lifted his hand. Not jazz hands exactly - just the one and then Michael closed his eyes. "There. I've changed. You can't quite tell can you? That's the beauty of the mutation."

"Startling and stunning, I must say." James sat up and leaned in, closely inspecting said transformation. "I wouldn't have expected a woman to be quite so … toothsome."

Michael was trying his best not to laugh. "Ah but I didn't tell you which part I changed." He even put a finger up, waggling it in front of James. "You've seen me in a dress with tits and a red wig. They didn't quite get the ginger right, though." He pressed his lips together, shaking his head.

"Ah, I'm intrigued! I didn't know Hermaphrodito could change bits of him-slash-herself," James answered, not trying to stifle his own laughter. "So did you change your nethers?"

"Yes," Michael inched closer toward James and then he was grinning outright. "yes, I did change by bits. I might no longer have a dick, James."

"And the women of the world mourned." James was smiling right back at him. "I find it odd that you vanquished your cock only, though, Michael. I feel as if you've only gone halfway."

"A tit man? Are you a tit man, James? I had no idea. Was that why you quite enjoyed the view when I was in that dress?" Michael waved a finger around in the air. "I turned you on, did I?"

"You keep saying that; it's our secret, petal." James even tapped Michael's mouth with a finger of his own. "You're a bit … " He gestured then, wide shoulders. "Broad for me."

"Broad?" Michael sat back clutching his chest and eyed James questioningly. "That hurts." He shook his head. "Just because of my shoulders I could no longer receive your affections? Ah, you wound me, sir." He sipped his martini.

"Michael. Dearest." James pet his knee. "I'm not a large man. As as a small man, I am easily intimidated by broad people, be they male or female. Were you a large-breasted woman with such broad shoulders, I fear my balls would shrink so far up into my body that I might have trouble swallowing." (Really, he was pleased how straight-faced he was in delivering that.)

"If I were a large-breasted woman with broad shoulders, I would fear myself." Michael was just as serious. "I would probably be convinced that Hermaphrodito got it all wrong."

"But how can Hermaphrodito be wrong? I find that hard to believe." James sipped at his own drink. "With such power comes great responsibility. A lot of people would look up to him-slash-her, I reckon."

"He-slash-she needs to learn to control his-slash-her powers, right? Someplace between rage and serenity?" Michael pressed his lips together and shrugged. "Or," he put a finger up, pointing it at James. "Desire and deceit."

"Lust and love. Confusion and Compassion, perhaps." James smiled at him, amused, relaxed and pleased. "I think you're right. We should fear Hermaphrodito."

"Aye, we should." Michael agreed. "I still would like a tail, though. I could really be a handy appendage. I think I shall stick to that story." He turned to James again. "And have you thought about something new you'd like to become?"

"I'll return to the Cupid idea. I quite like it." James tapped his glass against Michael's and shifted again to lie against Michael's hip. "It could be worse." The gauntlet, he meant. "We could be paired with someone else for the gauntlet." Like January, who rarely smiled.

Michael made a face and shook his head, his hair finally moving from where he had it perfectly coiffed. It fell over his eye as he looked down at James. "I don't think they'll do that. Charles and Eric have this love story, as you put it, that needs telling and who better than we to tell it." Looking down at James, Michael couldn't help himself from brushing the hair away from James's forehead.

"Than those who are in love, yes." James smiled up at him, studying the lines of his face. Exhaustion was creeping in, his eyelids getting heavy. He shifted a bit to be closer to Michael's chest. "A love story."

"Yes, James. A love story." It was the perfect opening for Michael to break into song. He kept combing his fingers gently through James's hair, singing the theme from a movie that just came to him. "Where do I begin, to tell the story of how great a love can be ... the sweet love story that is older than the sea ..."

"And yet another song that I do not know." The trend continued. James smiled, reaching up to put a finger over Michael's lips. Then his hand crept around the back of Michael's neck and James leaned up and after what had felt like an eternal day, they kissed.

Michael smiled against James's lips. It always did take them a while to get here - the kissing and other decadent things - always starting with their foreplay of words. The kiss was slow and gentle and over too quickly. "Is this part of that mating dance, darling? Shall I clear the floor now so I can watch you move for me?" Michael's voice took on a darker, raspier tone.

"I'd hoped you'd forgotten." But James should have know better; Michael never forgot anything. He leaned up further, elbow braced on Michael's knee to kiss again, just as lightly, just as teasingly.

This time Michael was the one who held on with a hand behind James's neck, his fingers finally, _finally_ sinking into those curled ends of his hair. He pulled back grinning broadly. "As excellent as that kiss was," and then Michael slowly licked around his lips, "and as much as I would love more … a deal is a deal. I believe I promised three martinis …you get the third when I get my mating dance."

"Ah, blast," James murmured, smiling wryly. "And if I settle for a mere two very good martinis?"

"Excellent," Michael corrected. "They are _excellent_ martinis." He looked back, clearly thinking while his fingers idly brushed over the curled ends of James's hair. "What will _you_ , Mr. James McAvoy, offer _me_ for two," Michael had to give up toying with that distracting hair to put two fingers up, "excellent martinis."

They were back to negotiating, apparently. When they could be in the enticing-looking bed. Damn and blast.

"I, James McAvoy," he said, thinking. "Will give you, Mister Michael Fassbender … " Then he grinned widely and devilishly, "my undying and vocal devotion and appreciation. As well as my body to do with as you please?"

Michael gave James a slow growing, wide grin. "What a tempting offer." He said, mock seriously since his smile didn't seem to want to fade, putting a finger to his temple as if he needed to think. "Hmm. Same offer as after that caddie incident but only for two martinis? Have I finally lured you with my charm, James?" His fingers were back at the nape of James's neck, toying with his hair.

"You've always lured me with your charms, petal. But I have to have some reserve, don't I?" James asked, grinning up at him. "I can't be someone who spreads his legs easily. You like the cat and mouse."

That was true. Amazing how in a short amount of time James had gotten to know Michael so well. The hand he had behind James's neck slid further down to follow his spine. It moved slow, taking his time.

"Then I believe I have no choice but to accept that offer," Michael said, moving agonizingly slow toward James, licking around his lips and then he was smiling again. "Deal." And they sealed that with a kiss.

~~

The next morning, the car dropped James and Michael for their day's gauntlet of fire. However, whilst James's hair was still a tousled mess as it always was, he was smiling. He glanced up at Michael. "Definitely, the power to make people fall in love."

Michael leaned forward in that horrendously uncomfortable director's chair, closely peering at James before nodding. "And the power to make _you_ comfortable in these bloody chairs." Poor thing would have to sit there for _hours_.

The next interviewer walked in and Michael straightened up, eyes back in front, grinning. "I still would like a tail. Can you just imagine, darling, what I can do with a tail?"

All James did was laugh. He could very well imagine actually.


End file.
